


new memories

by lafbaeyette, pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Series: 5 Years 'Verse [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, But Still Mostly Sex, Choking, Christmastime Content, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Porn with Feelings, Simon Has Some Kinks, So does Baz, family gathering, porn with vague plot, semi-public play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23164228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/lafbaeyette, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: I want to propose to Simon Snow.That’s been one of the ulterior motives behind this whole visit. I love the reckless bastard, more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in this world. The problem is he is determined to shag me in almost every corner of this house, and there are a lot of corners.I’ve been trying to get Mordelia and Daphne alone, but every time the opportunity arises Simon wants me alone. And I can’t very well just say no, can I? But at the same time, if I want everything to go to plan, I need to actually work on the plan.Perhaps I should just ditch the plan, ask Simon to marry me right here, right now.--AKA, Another One Where Baz Proposes
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: 5 Years 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665100
Comments: 9
Kudos: 297





	new memories

**Author's Note:**

> For all intents and purposes, this is a sequel to [_you're a fit one, mr. grinch_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21961537). You know, that monstrosity that I wrote last Christmas? 
> 
> Well, now you can have this monstrosity that is the aftermath of the boys actually returning to Pitch manor. I genuinely hope you enjoy it, and that you can warm your cold hearts by this garbage fire. 
> 
> All the thanks in the world to [ The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff), [annabellelux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabellelux/pseuds/annabellelux), and [sbazzing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sbazzing/pseuds/sbazzing) for being wonderful betas and dealing with my horrendous grammar and run-on sentences so you all didn't have to. Love to you all. <3 
> 
> And without further ado..... I'm sorry?

**BAZ**

One would think waking up in the arms of your significant other in the morning would never cease to be romantic and fulfilling. 

One would be mistaken, as the romance definitely dies out a bit over time. Not that I’ll ever regret waking up next to Simon Snow every day for, hopefully, the rest of our lives. I wouldn’t give up being greeted with his sleepy smiles and morning breath for anything, but it’s not always tender cuddling and soft kisses. 

No, this morning it’s one of Simon’s legs hitched over my hip, an arm slung across my waist, and the other pressed against my face. His head’s tipped back against the pillow, lips hanging open and a bit of drool gathering at the corner of his mouth. Though I’m still enamored by the sight. It’s disgusting how much I love him. 

I reach for the arm he’s stretched over my head, taking his hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the back. He lets out a rather loud snore, snuffling and shifting under the blankets. 

It’s rare for Simon to sleep later than me, but being here is a bit stressful for him. Understandably. I’m still a bit surprised that he agreed to return to Hampshire with me for the holiday in the first place, but I’m glad he did. I’m glad to have him here, lying next to me. 

This bed’s always been too big, but it’s just the right size for this. For us, here together. 

We’re only here for a couple days more. We had Christmas with my family yesterday, and the next two days will be full of family visits. That seems to be how it goes — we all spend our Christmases separately, but come together the following few days. And that’s all we see of each other until the next year. 

This will be the first time many of my extended family members meet Simon, and I know he’s more than a bit nervous about it. 

“Mmn,” Simon grunts, rolling into me and burying his face in my shoulder. “Time’z’it?” 

I reach for my mobile on the nightstand, squinting against the bright screen. “Half past nine.” 

Simon makes a soft sound of acknowledgement and burrows further into my neck. I think he’s fallen back asleep, until I feel his lips pressing soft, feather-light kisses against my throat. 

“Good morning to you, too,” I murmur, voice still thick from sleep, and his lips curl into a smile against my skin. 

“How long’ve we got?” 

“For what?” 

Simon lifts his head, a devilish smirk across his face as he waggles his eyebrows. I lift one of my own in question. 

“Have something in mind, Snow?” 

He doesn’t answer, with words anyway. He’s not always the best with his words, but that doesn’t mean his mouth isn’t talented at so many other things. 

**SIMON**

Baz’s family is…

Well, his step-mother and siblings are lovely, actually. Mordelia still seems a bit suspicious of me, but the younger ones are right obsessed it would seem. The twins couldn’t seem to get enough of me, and it was actually… nice. I told them about some of the missions Penny and I went on when we were first starting at Watford. I’m not sure how Baz’s father felt about that, but he didn’t stop me. The tykes were well enthralled — they were hanging on my every word. 

I think Baz was, too. 

He didn’t leave my side all night. Not because he was listening to my stories, just because he knew it wasn’t easy to be there. And it wasn’t, at first. I’ve not been back to this house since that Christmas. They’ve only been back for a few years now, since the magic came back. Thank Crowley it did, not that it’s really gotten rid of the guilt I’ve felt since then, but — 

But I’m trying not to think about that while we’re here. I’m trying to listen to my therapist’s advice, build better memories in place of the painful ones and all that. 

That’s why I’ve decided to shag Baz as much as I can in this house. 

Those’ll be happier memories. I’d much rather remember the image of Baz’s hair messy and spread across his posh pillowcases and his hands grasping at his million-thread-count sheets. His soft, muffled moans against the back of his hand as he tries to keep himself quiet. Not that I think he truly needs to. Even if he weren’t an expert with silencing spells, this place is so big I can’t imagine anyone is really close enough to overhear what we’re doing. 

But it’s well hot, at any rate, listening to him try to keep himself silent as I’m bobbing on his cock. He’s a little worse at it this morning, his little gasps and groans breaking through whenever I pull back until just my lips are wrapped around his crown and I swipe my tongue over his slit. 

“ _Fu-uck_ , Simon,” he gasps, hips bucking off the mattress. 

Oh, yeah, I’d _much_ rather remember this. 

  
  


**BAZ**

I want to propose to Simon Snow. 

That’s been one of the ulterior motives behind this whole visit. I love the reckless bastard, more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in this world. The problem is he is determined to shag me in almost every corner of this house, and there are a _lot_ of corners. 

I’ve been trying to get Mordelia and Daphne alone, but every time the opportunity arises Simon wants _me_ alone. And I can’t very well just say _no_ , can I? But at the same time, if I want everything to go to plan, I need to actually _work_ on the plan. 

Perhaps I should just ditch the plan, ask Simon to marry me right here, right now. 

With my cock halfway down his throat. 

_Fuck_ , I don’t know what about being here has gotten Simon so riled up but he’s been absolutely spoiling for it since we arrived. I got a proper Christmas shag last night, so good I was glad I doubled up on the silencing spells. (I would really prefer my family remain as ignorant as possible about my sex life. They’re already more aware than I’m comfortable with, as proven by one vaguely suggestive comment from Mordelia the moment we arrived.) (It’s not that I’m a prude, I just don’t need to _know_ that my fifteen-year-old sister knows I have sex with my boyfriend.) 

I really need to _not_ be thinking of my sister while Simon’s got his mouth on me. 

Thankfully, Simon does this thing with his tongue along my crown and it pulls me far, far away from my own thoughts. 

“Oh, Crowley, _ah_!” 

It doesn’t take much more before I’m coming down his throat, and he’s clutching my hips and taking every last drop like his life depends on it. 

He crawls back up, lying next to me and wrapping a leg and an arm around my middle. His lips leave sweet, feather-light kisses over my face — cheeks and chin and forehead — while I catch my breath. 

Simon’s humming, pressing his face into my neck, _cuddling_ with me in my childhood bed, in my childhood room. The very bed where I spent summers dreaming of this exact scenario, which seemed so incredibly improbable at the time. 

“I love you,” I whisper into his curls.

I can hear the smile in his voice as he responds, “I love you, too, Baz.” 

How did I get so lucky? 

**SIMON**

“Who’s s’posed to be coming today?” I ask, staring at myself in Baz’s full-length mirror. He’s made me put on one of his posh shirts — it’s got buttons down the front _and_ on the cuffs, the whole show. 

Baz is wearing something cashmere, I think. I don’t really know what cashmere is, if I’m honest, but his jumper looks soft. I think cashmere is meant to be really soft. It’s also this really lovely shade of royal blue, and with his dark jeans it looks smart. He looks lovely, as fucking usual, as he messes with his hair in _another_ mirror across the room. 

“Father’s family, mostly. Some of Daphne’s lot may show face tomorrow.” 

“Will Fiona be here?”

“We never know until she’s here.” Baz is behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and hooking his chin over my shoulder. Watching us in the mirror. “Looking forward to seeing her again?”

“Not sure that’s quite the right way to put it,” I murmur, and Baz’s laugh is soft against my neck. Then he’s kissing me there while simultaneously doing up the last couple buttons of my shirt. _That’s a bit backwards_ , I think. Then he’s turning me round to face him and pulling a tie from somewhere, draping it over my neck and beginning to tie it. Who’d’ve thought being dressed by someone could be almost more intimate than having them _un_ dress you? 

Baz’s knuckles brush lightly against my throat as he does up the knot. I’ve always been shite with my ties. I rarely ever actually took out the knot at Watford just so I wouldn’t have to do it up again. I can’t believe Baz is actually having me wear a _tie_ for this, but maybe his extended family is the sort to judge on that kind of thing. I don’t know. I’ve never met them. Well, I’ve met Dev. Maybe that should say all there is. 

Once he’s done up my tie he smooths down my collar, then cups his cool hands on either side of my neck. I feel weirdly exposed, more exposed than I was just earlier while I was sucking him off. His eyes are light — like, literally a lighter shade of grey — and the way he’s looking at me also just _feels_ light. Light, but… intense, still, in a way. I can’t look away from him, and for a moment I’m almost convinced he’s put me under his thrall, but —

No, he’s not. I’ve _always_ felt this way with Baz, even before I realised I fancied him. Entranced. Because he’s so bloody _elegant_ in everything he does, including tying a tie and just fucking _breathing_ , and he’s so bloody _fit_ , especially in this jumper of his or in his football kit or even just in his Watford uniform. His perfection is infuriating, and completely _enthralling._

I hate it. 

I love it. 

I love _him_. 

I lean in and kiss him. 

**BAZ**

It’s absolute torture, pulling myself away from Simon Snow’s expert mouth. But I’m afraid if I don’t we’ll never make it out of my room. 

I don’t _want_ to make it out of the room, if I’m being honest. I would love to stay here with Simon for the next two days, letting him have his way with me. Letting myself get lost in him. _With_ him. 

Simon makes a little whine when I pull my mouth away from his, and I let out a soft laugh against his lips. 

“We’re going to be late,” I murmur. Simon moves in closer, his hands smoothing down the front of my jumper. 

“Your family is lovely,” he whispers, tilting his face up to catch my lips again. “But I don’t exactly care.” 

“ _Simon_.” His name is lost between our lips as he cups the back of my head, pulls me into him with his other hand at my waist. And I am too weak to pull away again, so I let him hold me close and suck at my lips. I let him kiss me deeply, press himself against me. It’s when I feel him already half-hard against my thigh that I finally turn my head to break the kiss. 

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to ravish me later, Snow. Right now, we do have to go downstairs and greet at least a few of my relatives.” 

“Mm.” Simon leans his forehead against mine. “How many?” 

I laugh, I can’t help it. “At least five.” 

Simon steps away suddenly, straightening his tie and taking my hand. “Right. Five greetings, then I get to ravish you, yeah?” 

———

I manage to slip away from Simon, finally, while he’s deep in conversation with one of my uncles. They’re discussing something they’d both seen on the telly — some reality dating show. I had to get away so my respect for both my boyfriend and my uncle would remain intact. I’m not sure Simon even notices my exit, though my window before that changes is probably quickly closing. 

I find Mordelia and Daphne in the kitchen, fussing over some biscuits. They both stop when they see me enter, Daphne’s smile wide and bright as I join them. “Basil,” she says. “There you are. I didn’t think we were ever going to get you away from Simon. He’s certainly gotten you under his thumb, hasn’t he?” 

“I’m sure that’s not all he’s under,” Mordelia murmurs under her breath. Daphne doesn’t hide her surprised laugh very well and I shove my sister with my shoulder gently. 

“Don’t be crass,” I scold. 

“Don’t be _obvious_ ,” she counters, and my face would be burning if it hadn’t been several hours since I last fed. As it is, I’m sure I still manage a bit of pink in my cheeks. 

“Children.” Daphne’s voice is a gentle warning, too entertained to be reprimanding. “So, Basil, Mordelia said you texted her on Christmas Eve about…” 

“Yes,” I breathe. Even though we haven’t really _said it_ , just the idea of it knocks the breath out of me. “Yes, I — well, I want to do it. Propose.” 

“When?” Mordelia’s lost all hints of teasing in her voice, now sounding genuinely excited at the prospect. “ _Here_? Do we get to help?” 

I can’t help but laugh at her eagerness. 

“Yes, here. I — I think it’d be good for him, especially, to have something better to… associate with this place. Seeing as it’s taken this long to get him to come back.” 

“I think that’s very sweet, Basil.” Daphne’s giving me a motherly look, eyes full of unconditional love and something else that hurts too much to name. I break eye contact before I can’t ignore the burning behind my eyes. 

“I was considering… maybe doing it at dinner? Then it’s just a few of us, rather than the entire Grimm family as an audience.” 

“Oh, your Aunt Fiona will just love having her dramatic last-minute entrance upstaged.” Daphne chuckles. 

“Pitches can’t do anything without maximum drama,” Mordelia mutters, giving me a smug little look. I resist the urge to fuss up her hair (she’d probably rid me of my hand entirely). I cock a brow and look her way instead. 

“It’s a wonder there’s no Pitch blood in you.” 

She sticks her tongue out, ever the mature teenager. “I still have your ring, prat.” 

“ _Mordelia_ ,” Daphne chides, though she knows as well as I do that it’s a wasted breath. 

“Yes, you abomination, I’ll be needing that.” 

“I could be persuaded to bring it to the dinner table.” Mordelia crosses her arms and cocks a hip, one brow raised in perfect imitation of my earlier expression. I swear, if it weren’t for her uncanny resemblance to Daphne, one _could_ certainly mistake her for a Pitch. “What’s in it for me?” 

“Make your eldest brother happy?” I try, and she scrunches her nose. I roll my eyes. “Those boots you’ve been ogling since last Christmas?” 

“Deal.” Mordelia holds her hand out for a professional shake and I appease her by accepting it, holding back a smile that would betray my affection. As far as family and siblings go, I wasn’t dealt the worst hand. Daphne’s grinning herself, hardly able to contain her glee. 

“Oh, Basil,” she coos, a hand on my cheek. “This’ll be _wonderful_ —” 

“There you are! What’ll be wonderful?” None of us heard or saw Simon enter the kitchen, but here he is, suddenly winding an arm around my waist. “Thought you ran away from me there.” 

“Sorry, Simon, dear.” Daphne’s still barely containing her enthusiasm, but Simon seems too focused on snaking an arm up the back of my jumper to notice. “I just needed to borrow Basil for a quick moment. We’re making New Year’s plans.” 

“Oh, brilliant.” Simon shoots Daphne a grin, then turns back to me. “Are we coming back for the New Year?” 

The ‘we’ makes my heart jump into my throat. ‘We’ never have any plans involving this house — but maybe we can now. Maybe we’ve already started repairing those dark memories. 

“We may,” I say, working past the lump of emotion in my throat. “We’re still working out the details.” 

“I can’t wait, if we do.” And he sounds so genuine when he says it. “But, uhm. Darling, could I steal you back for a moment?” I could swoon when he calls me ‘darling,' and Daphne’s already nodding. 

“Yes, yes, of course.” She’s all but shooing us off as Simon slips his hand from beneath my jumper and twines his fingers with my own. “We’ll see you two at dinner.” 

Simon calls out over his shoulder, something affirming that I don’t catch, because he’s already dragging me back toward the stairs. 

“Simon, what are—” 

“You said five. We hit five.” 

———

He presses my back against my bedroom door before I can get a word out, mouth capturing mine in a searing kiss. His hands are up my jumper, fingers grazing over my chest and toying with my nipples, pulling a strangled moan from my throat. 

“ _Ah_ — Si—” I break off with another groan as Simon drops to his knees, leaving a trail of hot kisses down my belly. His tongue swirls around my belly button, licks a broad stripe just over the waist of my trousers. He’s not taking his time. Not that he needs to — I’ve been ready since he pinned me against the door. “ _Simon_.” 

“Yes, darling?” he hums, speaks the words into the curve of my belly before nipping at the skin there. I try not to shudder. I don’t succeed. 

“My _family_ is downstairs.” I sound too breathy, too affected, to my own ears. Simon doesn’t stop his assault on my skin, tugging my trousers down just enough to run his teeth across a hip bone. 

“Better keep quiet then, yeah?” He’s got an impish grin on his face when I look down at him, and he takes the opportunity to watch me as he drags his mouth to the front of my trousers, ghosts his lips over the outline of my cock. His breath is warm and barely there, it takes effort not to let out another moan. “I have a plan, _Basil_ , but in order for it to work I should probably give you a bit of relief now.” 

I bite my lower lip in an effort to keep quiet. I didn’t cast any silencing spells so we’re fully reliant on my own abilities to be silent and the distance the large house offers from the partygoers. Simon, the sexy _bastard_ , pops the button of my trousers before _dragging_ the zip down with his _teeth_. I nearly whimper at the relief when he puts his mouth on me over my pants. 

“Don’t you want to know my plan, darling?” he asks, and it takes me a moment to register his question. My head is buzzing with pleasure and promise and anticipation. It’s hard to pull my thoughts away from _warmandwetandgoodsogoodsosogood_ to process his words. 

“I — _ah!_ — I’m hoping it involves my prick in your mouth, _soon_ .” I’m panting, because Simon is still working his mouth over me, pressing his tongue over my length indiscriminately. He seems to just be teasing in general, rather than trying to _accomplish_ anything. He pulls his mouth away from my cock, returning it to press kisses along my belly. I let my hand slip down into his curls. When he speaks his breath sends shivers across my skin. 

“That _is_ part of my plan,” he whispers. “I do want to suck you off. I _always_ want to suck you off. But, while you were off with your mother and sister, I got an… _interesting_ idea.” 

I gasp as he cups me with his hand, not expecting the contact. 

“Ask me what my interesting idea is, _darling_.” 

He _knows_ what that does to me. I can’t help it when I rock my hips into his hand. “Wh-what’s your interesting idea, love?” 

I can feel Simon’s smirk against my skin, can feel the way his breath shakes as he breathes in. “You know how we’ve been talking about getting… a vibrator?” He’s moving his hand slowly over me, and waiting for my response. I give a sharp nod — of _course_ I know. I just can’t _think_ of much more at the moment than how much I want Simon’s mouth back on me. “I found one. Well, a _plug_ that vibrates. And I bought it, and packed it.” 

I look back down at him, at the glint in his eye when I breathe, “ _Here_?” He nods, then keeps going. 

“It can be remotely controlled, too. It’s wicked, actually, I was really… _excited_ when I found it.” And my mind runs off with that one, with the thought of Simon searching for _sex toys_ alone. Then the thought of him getting himself off thinking about _using_ those toys. I barely register the moan that escapes me before it’s free. “Thought it’d be fun to try out. Tonight.” 

“ _Tonight_?” My voice is pitched up, and breaks off with another groan as Simon squeezes my length. 

“That’s the plan.” Simon presses another kiss above my waistband, then he’s finally, _finally_ pulling my pants down. “I wanna suck you off first, of course. But then I want to put it inside you, and let you wear it to dinner.” 

“ _Simon_ —” 

“And even better, I can control it from my mobile. You’ve done such a good job controlling yourself in here, baby. But I wonder how you’d do in front of your family.” 

I thought it was bad enough that they knew I was shagging Simon, not that I’m ashamed at all. But it’s _private_ , these moments with him. They’re not for anyone else. Still, there’s something weirdly thrilling about the idea of sharing this intimacy in front of them. _Secretly_. I’m too turned on to focus on the weird aspect, too turned on to focus on anything but Simon’s tongue working over me. 

He pulls away again, sitting back on his heels, and I bite back a groan. He huffs a laugh and stands, crowding me against the door to kiss me deep and slow before breaking away and smacking my arse. “Take your pants off and lay on your bed, darling.” 

I don’t need to be asked twice. I kick my shoes off so I can finally pull my trousers and pants fully down my legs, then shuffle over to my bed. Simon moves to the other side of the room, rifling through one of our bags before he’s back on top of me, kissing a trail down my neck. I reach for the hem of my jumper and Simon catches my hands. 

“Keep it. It’s really nice.” He does push it up my stomach a bit, to return to kissing and nipping and licking at the soft part there. That’s one of my favorite places to lavish affection on him (he’s got a bit more softness there than I do, naturally rounder than me in some places). I hope it feels this good for him when I do it. 

He returns his attention where it’s needed, sinking down onto me, and I clap a hand over my mouth to muffle my moan. My other hand returns to his head, tangling in his curls and giving gentle tugs in moments of special appreciation. Each tug earns a soft groan from Simon, ones that I _feel_ more than hear. 

I’m so lost to the feeling that I don’t even hear him snap open the cap of the lube or squirt it onto his fingers. Which means I’m not expecting it when one of his fingers circles my hole. Which means I’m not successful at holding back my surprised gasp and groan. 

I feel the curl of Simon’s smile where his lips are wrapped around the head of my cock, and then he’s hollowing his cheeks and slipping a finger inside of me and I feel ready to explode. 

Simon is going to be the death of me. He’s going to kill me, right here in my childhood bedroom, and it’s going to be the most humiliating death known to man. My obituary will read, ‘ _passed on in the throes of passion, died getting his dick sucked’_. But it’s not just his mouth, it’s also his _fingers_ , working their way inside of me, crooking in all the best ways, and hitting _everything_ just right. 

Then his mouth is gone, and he’s asking, “Can I put it in now?” 

“Fu- _uck, yes_ ,” I sigh, momentarily relieved from _too much_ sensation as he turns his attention to the plug. It’s quite the sight, Simon Snow kneeling between my legs, smearing more than enough lube over the sleek, black toy. It’s almost elegant looking, the cone rounding down to a spiraled neck and a flared t-bar base. His eyes flick up to mine as he presses it against my entrance. He has one hand on my thigh, rubbing small, slow circles over it. I shift my hips a bit, give us both something better to work with, and then he’s pushing it in to the base. 

The stretch is _good_. And the way he squeezes my thigh (as I hold my breath, to keep myself from making any noise) is so gentle that I almost want to cry. My head’s thrown back against the sheets and I have to squeeze my eyes shut when Simon returns to his previous ministrations on my cock. 

A moment later, the toy starts vibrating, and that’s the last thing it takes before I’m coming. _Hard_. 

Simon works me through my orgasm, and the toy continues vibrating as I squeeze around it, continues even after I’ve started to come down, even when it starts reaching a point of _too much_ because I’m overstimulated. 

“ _Ah —_ ah, Si-Simon,” I whimper, and he takes pity. The toy stops and I relax back into the mattress, sated, my limbs heavy. Simon crawls up next to me, winding an arm around my waist and pressing soft kisses to my cheeks and forehead. 

We lay like that for what feels like hours, though it’s probably just a few minutes. My eyes are closed and my face is buried in Simon’s neck when there’s a jolt from the toy. I jump and flinch a bit as the pulsing starts up again, another whimper escaping my lips. 

“What are you _doing,_ Snow?” I ask, voice too breathy and broken to really sound put off at all. It feels _good_ , but I also feel completely spent. My every nerve ending is hyper aware. I shift my hips, which only shifts the plug seated inside me, hitting an entirely different angle. “ _Shit_.” 

It stops again as Simon sits up, mobile in his hand. He waves it in my direction, lips pulled up in a satisfied grin. “This thing’s fun, innit?” He presses something on his screen — another _jolt_ , another whimper — and then I see him lock the screen and turn to me. “Supposedly it can also be voice-activated, and set to music. We’ll have to explore those someday. But we should probably get ready for dinner now, yeah?” 

He leans over to kiss me again, his hips brushing against my hand, and I realize— 

“You’ve not gotten off,” I say dumbly, because of course _he_ knows that. “You didn’t this morning, either, did you?” 

“Did in the shower.” I palm him through his trousers, earning a soft sound as he kisses me again. “We don’t have to, I’m—” 

“Are you really going to deny me the pleasure of sucking your dick in return?” 

“I know how you are about punctuality,” he murmurs, voice straining as I keep moving my hand over him. “Then again, who am _I_ to deny you the pleasure.” 

“Exactly,” I whisper against his lips. “Get up here and fuck my face, Snow.” 

We’re only a few minutes late to dinner. 

**SIMON**

I don’t know how Baz manages to not look disheveled as we make our way down to dinner. Every hair on his perfect bloody head is in place, despite my best attempts at messing it up while we were in his bed. I love seeing him messy, undone, falling apart beneath me or taking me apart with his mouth. 

Sometimes I just want to come across his face, just to see him in complete sexual disarray. I’m not sure he’d be as okay with that. (It definitely wouldn’t have been a good idea to chance coming to dinner with stray spunk in his hair or something. Anyway, that’s maybe something to bring up later.) 

We were already venturing on the plane of bad ideas with him coming to dinner with a vibrator up his arse. It’s still there, and I still have full control of it with an app on my mobile. Baz is made of a cool exterior, the epitome of composure, when it matters. Just the thought of him losing a bit of that, in _front_ of people, gets me a bit hot. 

It’s a good thing Baz did get me off upstairs, otherwise we’d both be dealing with some uncomfortable circumstances throughout this meal. 

Everyone else has already sat down by the time we reach the dining room, Baz’s step-mother and father and siblings all dressed nicely and having a quiet conversation that halts as soon as we walk in. Baz clears his throat before uttering a quiet apology for our tardiness, and I see his step-mother shoot us both a knowing look. _Shit,_ it’s because I’m not as good at pulling myself back together after we fool around. I know my hair is still a bit of a mess, but it’s always a mess, so I figured it wouldn’t necessarily be noticeable as _sex hair_. But maybe it is? Maybe she’s got some sort of mother’s intuition, somehow keyed in to her son’s sexcapades. _Maybe they heard us_. 

That last thought gives me a bit of a thrill, sending a shiver down my spine. I know Baz would be well humiliated at the thought, but it almost gives me this strange sense of pride in my chest. The idea of people knowing, of _hearing_ just how good I can make Baz feel. How I can drive him mad, make this walking dictionary speechless, reduce him to nothing but gasps and moans and sounds of pleasure that soak into me and fuel me further. How a single flick of my tongue can have Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch melting into a breathless puddle of pleasure in the sheets. 

“I couldn’t find you at the end of the party, Basil,” his father says, and a quick glance at Baz tells me that his face would be bright red right now if he had the blood in him for it. “Quite a few of your cousins were taken by your Simon here.” 

_Your Simon._

That makes my brain short circuit for a minute, actually: _Your Simon_. 

It surprises me, I think, because I never thought Baz’s family would be so… accepting of me. Not necessarily just because of the queer thing, either. I mean, Baz has mentioned that it hasn’t quite been a point of contention for some time, much like his vampirism. But I was… 

I was _The Chosen One._ The _Mage’s Heir_. All the Old Families hated me, and Baz’s family was… Well, they were probably rooting for my downfall more than anyone, from day one. Sure, Baz had apparently been secretly in love with me that whole time, but I doubt that was true for every single one of the Mage’s enemies. And _sure_ , I’m not much of a threat _now_. I’m not much of _anything_ now, just… 

Simon. 

His Simon. _Baz’s_ Simon. 

But I’m still… 

I’m still the boy that destroyed their home. I stole their magic. They had to _move_ , I uprooted them. I ruined them, _and_ I was dating their son, which didn’t let them just sweep his queerness under the rug anymore. 

I thought they hated me, still. Baz had told me I was wrong, but I couldn’t _believe_ it. After everything… It’s still a wonder every day that Baz doesn’t hate me. That he _loves_ me (which is even more unbelievable). 

That I’m _his_. 

And his father, _Malcolm fucking Grimm_ , is not only _not_ ignoring that fact but actively _proclaiming it_. 

“Simon?” Baz’s hand is on my arm. I blink, looking at his stormy grey eyes, full of concern. _Oh, shit,_ I _did_ fully short-circuit. I realise everyone’s watching me. I blink again and give Baz a smile. He quirks his brow. “Alright, love?” 

“Yeah,” I say, honestly. I’m more than alright, I’m swell, I’m _perfect_. “Yeah, sorry, I’m great.” 

Baz matches my smile, then his hand moves down my arm to take my hand. Daphne asks me a question, something inane about work, and I answer while I squeeze Baz’s hand under the table. 

Food gets passed around and I get distracted from the earlier swell of emotions fairly quickly. Baz, Penny, and I do fairly well for ourselves when it comes to homemade dinners (I cook pretty frequently, try to make interesting meals that are still fairly cheap and nutritious), but nothing will ever beat a good homemade meal at Pitch Manor. Maybe it’s because they can afford better ingredients, or they can afford a professional cook? Who made this dinner anyway? 

I forget to care about the answer as soon as I take a bite of green beans. I forget about everything except piling my plate with no shame, gathering a nice helping of every dish passed to me. You can tell five years have passed because Baz no longer watches me do this with complete disgust—now it’s disgust mixed with a level of fondness. 

I’m just about to ask for a second helping of stuffing when the door to the dining room swings open, and standing there, in a fashionable black velvet jumpsuit coupled with an even darker leather jacket, is Fiona Pitch. 

“Fiona, glad you could make it.” Malcolm gestures to an empty space next to Mordelia and one of Baz’s other younger sisters. I haven’t seen Fiona Pitch in several years. Baz had been living with her for his first year of uni, but moved out to his own flat after that. There were many awkward encounters in those first few months, before things… well. Before our relationship sort of fell to shit, before I thought the only answer was breaking up… 

Anyway, when Baz and I found ourselves back on track, I was very pleased that he had his own space. It was much more convenient. 

And that meant no more run-ins with Fiona, those rare instances she was actually in London. She traveled rather frequently, according to Baz, and I know he really only ever saw her around the holidays. 

“I wasn’t going to pass up the once-a-year opportunity to see my nephew.” Fiona pulls her leather jacket off as she steps up behind Baz to muss his hair. He swats her hand away, but accepts a kiss to each cheek as she laughs at his reaction. 

“How are you, Basil?” she asks, then glances at me. “I see you’ve brought the Chosen One along. So we’re finally worthy of his presence?” 

I feel heat rush to my face at her words, something about them not sitting quite right. Maybe Baz’s father and step-mother had accepted me into the picture, but no way was Fiona going to forgive and forget so easily. (For what, though? For my _existence_? I suppose that’s what it boils down to.) She had wanted Baz to _kill_ me. (On multiple occasions) 

“Fiona.” Baz’s tone is gently warning, which makes my chest swell. The fact that he’d protect me from his family, his aunt’s attitude. “Yes, Simon wanted to come spend Christmas with us this year.” 

Fiona’s eyes sweep over me, her expression entirely unreadable, and it’s equal parts terrifying and infuriating. It’s the same look Baz gave me when we were younger, at Watford. I wonder if his mum would’ve shared the same expression, if I would’ve been able to tell what _she_ thought of me. 

If her face would have softened in the same way Fiona’s does when she catches sight of our hands clasped under the table. 

“It’s good to see you, boyo.” She’s not looking at either of us when she says this, and while I’m sure it was meant to be directed at Baz, I momentarily wonder if it was directed at me as well. 

Fiona takes her seat and everyone falls back into casual conversation. I’m too busy eating to talk, but I listen to Baz tell Fiona about his coursework, and about his new neighbors who don’t recognize how thin their walls are. (I can’t exactly fault them, though. I have heard some things through the wall when I’m at his, but I’m sure we give them a show right back.) (I’m starting to realize that may be a _thing_ for me, and I’m interested in exploring it later.) 

“Simon, you must show me how you make those lovely biscuits of yours before you two head back,” Daphne is telling me, just as my mobile buzzes in my pocket. It’s probably Penny, she’s been periodically checking in with me since I told her I was coming to Hampshire with Baz. I pull it out without looking as I turn to Daphne. 

“Oh, honestly, the trick is—”

Baz lets out a sharp gasp next to me, hand grabbing my thigh as he tries to cover up his reaction with a cough. 

“Basil, are you alright?” Daphne asks. Everyone’s turned their attention to him now, as he keeps his eyes trained on the table, his hand squeezing at my leg. 

“Ah, fine. Cramp.” _Can vampires get cramps?_ His voice is tight, words clipped. He drops it to a whisper and turns to me. “Simon, love, you should really check that.” He gestures to my mobile, still in my hand, with a curt nod. 

“Huh? Oh, it’s just Pen—” I glance at the screen — _oh._

Penny _had_ texted me, but that wasn’t what had opened when I took my phone out. Suddenly Baz’s rigid posture, clenched jaw, and death grip on my thigh makes sense. 

I had accidentally turned on the vibrator still nestled discreetly in Baz’s arse. A hoarse laugh escapes my throat, which earns a glare from Baz. Thankfully everyone else has returned to their previous conversations, and I watch Baz visibly relax when I hit a button to turn the toy back off. 

I press it again and Baz’s eyes slide shut as he hisses “ _Snow_ ” under his breath. I lean over, right next to his ear, grateful that we’re the only ones on our side of the table. 

“I told you, darling, this was part of my plan,” I whisper hotly against the shell of his ear. He shivers, shifts in his chair, and I look back at the screen and hit another button. This one’s meant to give it a rhythmic pulse. Baz shifts again, shooting me a look. The dark flash of his eye could either be murderous or lustful—at this point I don’t know which it could be. 

I know which I’d _rather_ it be. 

I take pity on him for the rest of dinner, turning it off and setting my mobile aside. I really don’t think of it again until after dessert, when Daphne ushers the younger ones out and it’s just the adults left at the table sharing a bottle of wine. 

Baz is talking with his father, and I’m picking at some biscuits left in the middle of the table when my mind turns back to the power I have in my hand. 

This is where the fun truly begins. 

I unlock my screen and return to the toy’s app, looking through it to see what features it offers. It has three vibration levels, but I don’t want to risk going any higher than the first. Although it’s advertised as completely silent, I’m not sure I want to discover false marketing claims in this situation. 

Well, there’s a part of me that does. But I push that part away, for now, as it’s definitely not the time or place. I press something else instead, under the vibration patterns window. 

It seems to catch Baz off-guard because I hear his breath hitch in the middle of his sentence. He clears his throat and keeps going, not faltering again in his conversation. 

I watch him as I switch between the two settings, impressed with his composure, but working to break it as much as I can. 

**BAZ**

I’m going to kill Simon Snow. 

Or he’s going to kill me, with this _plan_ of his. He doesn’t even know that he’s ruined my own plans for this dinner, but the look on his face when he told me about the plug, and how he wanted to use it _tonight_ … how could I deny him? I want to do everything I can to make him happy, to satisfy him, to please him — even if that means sitting through a family dinner with a plug up my arse. 

Mordelia and Daphne gave me pointed looks throughout the meal, anticipating the moment. But I couldn’t, not tonight, not like _this_ . I don’t want to have something in my arse when I ask Simon to marry me — not that _they_ need to know that’s the reason. 

Actually, this would have been perfect. I saw the look on Simon’s face when Father mentioned how the cousins liked him, when Father called him _my_ Simon. Simon had been convinced my family still wouldn’t like him, that they were still holding grudges, but I knew they weren’t. Father had never quite said as much, until tonight at least, but they had grown into the idea of us over the years. It took some longer than others, but they all like him. Dare I say, they love him _._

Even Fiona was watching him throughout dinner. It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking half the time, but there was an unmistakable softness around the edges of her inquisitive gaze, and she may be the hardest one to win over. 

But I couldn’t — _can’t_ — ask such an important question in this moment. 

Can I? 

Eventually, Mother ushers the kids off and Father brings out the wine, and I’m calculating how much longer we have to stay before I can politely excuse myself and Simon. 

It’s rather difficult to listen to my father’s opinions on my next semester’s courses when I’m trying not to be obvious about what’s happening. Simon’s gotten his mobile out again, and he must be exploring the settings on that godforsaken app, because the plug is vibrating in varying patterns and it’s work to keep my composure. 

It starts pulsing quickly, unrelenting, and a choked sound escapes me. Fiona and Father both look at me, Fiona with a raised brow. _So, this is how it feels to have that cocked brow turned on you._

I cough, try to cover it, but I can see Simon’s smirk out of the corner of my eye. 

“Everything alright, boyo?” Fiona asks, and I nod sharply. The vibrator is still going, still pulsing inside of me, and I clench around it. Crowley, it feels so _good_ , and I can feel sweat starting to gather at my temples and my cock swelling in my pants. 

It stops and I let out a quiet breath. Fiona and my parents have been talking to Simon, but I haven’t processed a word that’s been said. It’s taking all of my focus not to fall apart at my kitchen table, in front of my _fucking family_. 

“Are you feeling alright, Basil?” Mother asks, that maternal concern in her eye making me feel positively guilty about all of this. “You look…”

 _Like my boyfriend is slowly taking me apart before your very eyes and apparently getting off to you being none the wiser_ , I don’t offer, because they can’t know the truth. 

But maybe this is my chance. 

“Actually, I’m — _ah_!” I clap a hand over my mouth. Simon, the _cheeky bastard_ , turns the vibrator back to the consistent pulsing pattern as I talk and I can’t help the gasp that breaks free or the not-silent-enough moan that follows. 

I want to set myself on fire. 

I think Simon _is_ setting me on fire, from the inside. 

“Basil?” Daphne, ever the maternal caretaker, stands and approaches me, presses the back of her hand to my forehead. “Oh, dear, you’re—”

I can’t be here when they come to the realisation that I _can’t_ get sick. They may not bring it up, they may skirt around it all the time, but the fact of the matter is I am a vampire and I’m _not_ sick. But if that’s what they’ll buy right now… 

“I should probably retire for the night,” I say, my voice too tight and high and I hope they place blame for that on my feigned illness. “Probably a bug, just need to sleep it off.” 

I stand, which shifts the plug and sends those pulses into entirely new, entirely _too_ -pleasurable areas. 

“ _Augh_.” I grip my stomach for show, and Simon, looking like the fucking cat that got the canary, stands as well. 

“Oh, darling,” he coos, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. Then to my family, “I’ll take him to bed. Thank you again for the lovely dinner. Sorry to cut the evening short, but we can definitely talk biscuits in the morning, Mrs. Grimm. It was lovely seeing you again, as well, Fiona.”

I swear he insists on giving everyone a personalised goodnight just to spite me, but then we’re leaving the dining room behind and heading up the stairs. He gives the plug a rest on the way, and once we’re out of sight I take his hand and run up the steps two at a time.

———

Once we’re back in my room I pull my wand out and cast every silencing spell I know, just to be safe, before turning on Simon. He’s standing in the middle of the room, looking absolutely delectable and downright evil. I’m on him in less than an instant, pressing my hand into his chest and shoving his back against the wall. There’s a challenging glint in his eye, and _oh_ , this is going to be fun. 

“You’re a fucking _menace_ , Snow,” I snarl in his face, taking his lower lip between my teeth right after and swallowing his gasp. “Can’t even let me enjoy time with my family without making this about you?” 

Simon growls low in his throat, stretching to reach my mouth. “Don’t act like you’ve not been obsessed with me for years, Pitch.” 

“Crowley, you’re annoying.”

“And you’re a prat,” he spits back. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me already.” 

For once I listen to him, crushing our mouths together and pressing my body flush against his. The hand on his chest moves over his shoulder, fingers sinking into his curls. His hands are at my waist, tugging at my jumper, my belt loops, pulling me closer despite not having a breath of space between us already. 

His mouth is relentless. I hardly have the chance to breathe until he leaves my lips in favor of suckling along my neck. I wish I had fed before this, wish I had more blood to offer in my body so that he could actually bruise me. They’d heal too fast, of course, even if he did manage. I might not even have the chance to admire them properly, but none of that keeps Simon from trying his damnedest. His fingers dig into my waist and he’s sucking and biting along my neck, shoulders, clavicle. 

He finally leans back enough to tear my jumper over my head then starts pulling at his tie, fingers fumbling to unknot it. The frustrated look on his face is adorable, his nose scrunched up and lower lip pulled between his teeth. A laugh bubbles up from my throat and his eyes flick up to meet mine. My brows are lowered into a glare at him. 

“Don’t laugh at me, you knob, you’re the one that made me wear this bloody thing,” he growls, tugging it down just a little but ultimately tightening the knot again. “Help me with this thing, will you?” 

“Alright, alright.” I swat his hand away, and he sets about a new task by undoing my trousers. I work his tie off with a smug look, slipping it over his head and starting in on the buttons of his shirt. 

We make quick work of the rest of our clothes and Simon pulls me along to the bed, sitting on the edge and holding me by the hips. He’s nosing along the crease of my inner thigh, pointedly ignoring my cock and running his hands over my thighs, inching them further and further back until his fingers brush the base of the plug. He pushes against it, making me clench around it and take in a sharp breath. I feel his fingertips brush against my rim, gripping the plug. 

“Wait.” I grab his arm, pull his hand back. He lifts his head to look up at me. “Don’t. I want to keep it in.” 

His brows shoot up his forehead and I watch his throat as he swallows thickly. “Yeah? Yeah. Yeah, a-alright. Uhm, I — in that case — what — ?” 

Simon’s never been the best with his words, but it’s not hard to parse out what he’s asking. I bend to kiss him, let my lips trail over to his ear and whisper hotly, “I want to fuck you.” 

He shudders, fingers tightening where they’re still splayed over my thigh. He swallows again and I regret not being able to see it this time, but then he’s pulling at my leg, urging me onto the bed with him, and breathing, “ _Yeah_.” 

I wouldn’t say we’ve got a strict top-bottom arrangement in our relationship, but I am frequently blessedly filled with Simon Snow’s cock when we have sex. The idea of being inside Simon (with the addition of the plug inside _me_ ) sends a thrill through me, especially once he’s reaching for the lube and laying back, legs spread apart for me. I take the bottle from him, lean over to press wet kisses over his chest, before I remember — 

“Where’s your mobile?” My lips brush against his peaked nipple when I ask and his breath shakes out of him. 

“Uh, pocket. Trousers pocket. Why — wait, Baz, where are you — ?” 

I’m back on the bed quickly enough, returning my mouth to his chest and placing his mobile into his hand. 

“What’s this for?” His confused question is adorably mixed in with soft huffs and grunts as I work my way down his body, leaving sucking kisses and bites amid the moles and freckles already patterning his skin. “I — Do you wanna — Are we — ?” 

“What are you on about, love?” My mouth is on his thigh now, exploring the area and running my tongue up the inside, just shy of where I’d really like to be. 

He gasps, finally gets out, “Did you wanna f-film us?” 

“ _What_?” I’m on all fours between Simon’s legs, shooting him an incredulous look, and I’d be blushing if I could. “ _No_. I mean, I —” Fuck, now he’s got _me_ stuttering. “Not _now_.” 

“Not _now_?” He’s sat up now, too. “So you _do_?” 

“Crowley, Snow.” I shake my head. “I — Can we revisit this when I’m _not_ about to eat your arse? The phone’s for the app. The plug. _My_ arse. Not a bloody porno.” 

“ _Oh_. Right, yeah. Alright.” 

“Alright? Can I… ?” 

“Of course, yeah, _please._ Commence the arse-eating.” 

I snort. _This adorable fucking nightmare is going to kill me_. 

I do commence the arse-eating, pressing the flat of my tongue against him and relishing the shiver that runs through him. Simon’s the one who's always so good at this, at knowing just what to do with his mouth to have me writhing from this alone. While I’d dare to call myself an expert at sucking dick, I’ve not got near the same amount of experience rimming as he does. I try to mimic what I can, grip his cheeks to spread him wider as I pepper him with kisses, alternating between ones that are soft, barely-there, and ones that are wet, open, and sucking. Working him until he’s pressing back into me, lifting his hips off the bed, hands clenching the sheets. 

“ _Baz_ ,” he gasps. “More, _please_. Need — _ah_!” 

I replace my mouth with my finger, pressing into him slowly. He lets out a long, shaky moan. 

“ _Fuck_ , Baz, oh — _ohhh_.” Simon’s vocal tonight, _loud._ The silencing spells were a good call, it would seem. His chest is heaving, breath coming hard and fast, by the time I’ve got three fingers in him. He swears when I crook my fingers just the right way, hips bucking up, fingers reaching down to circle around my forearm. “Baz, _Baz_ , fuck, baby, please — if you don’t fuck me _right now_ , I’m going to probably actually die.” 

I huff a laugh, pulling my fingers out and crawling up the bed until I can reach his face. He grabs my head with both hands, pulling me down into a bruising kiss. His tongue snakes its way into my mouth, sucking at my lips, tasting himself there, swallowing each gasp of breath that escapes me. 

“Baz,” he sighs, swings his legs to wrap around my hips and pull me closer. “ _Please_.” 

“I’ve got a better idea.” Simon whines when I pull away. I nudge his knee a bit until he drops his legs and I can move further up the bed. “Come here, Snow.” 

“Wha—?” He turns over, watches me as I settle down with my back against the headboard. I shift against the plug and feel it press deeper into me when I sit. _Crowley_ , I wish we’d invested in this sooner. 

“We’re trying new things tonight, yeah?” I reach out for him, pull him into my lap. 

“This isn’t new, Baz,” Simon laughs, but doesn’t put up a fight as he swings his legs over my legs, settling down with his knees bracketing my hips. 

“Then let’s make it new.” I reach for his mobile again, pressing it back into his hand. I’m only a little desperate for him to turn it back on at this point. “ _This_ is new, after all. Is there something else you’ve wanted to try?” 

He’s flushed, from his cheeks down to his chest, every inch of skin painted a pretty pink beneath the constellations of his moles. He smiles, wrapping his fingers around the mobile then putting his other hand on my shoulder. 

“Just this,” he murmurs, leaning close enough for our lips to brush as he lowers himself onto my length. I can feel his breath shaking, puffing out against my mouth and chin, and I hold tight to his hips until he’s fully seated. “ _Fuck_ , Baz, feels so good.” 

I can only muster a grunt of agreement because he’s started moving and simultaneously turned the vibrator back on. The pulses course through me, and combined with being buried in Simon’s velvety heat it’s almost too much. _Almost_. 

Somehow, on another plane, it’s just _not enough_ , Simon bouncing on my cock as I squeeze at his thighs in time with the pulsing plug. He’s panting, moaning, gasping on top of me, the mattress creaking beneath us as he moves. Every time I meet him with a thrust, the shift pushes the plug deeper into me. 

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Simon gasps, grinding his hips against me. “Ah, _ohh,_ yes, right there, Baz, yeah.”

He’s clenching around me, and suddenly the pulsing of the plug is even more intense. He’s turned it to a higher setting and it feels like I’m being fucking _drilled_ into, the vibrations shooting up through every part I need them to. “Simon. _Simon_. Yes, _fuck, yes_.” 

I’m babbling, I’m close. Every one of my nerves is alight. There’s heat pooling between my legs, low in my belly, spreading across my skin. 

I’m close, _so close_ to that edge. 

And yet somehow, even with my cock buried in Simon’s beautiful arse, my mind keeps floating back to something. Just a thought, a fleeting idea. 

I’m almost afraid to voice it, I’ve considered it before but could never work up the words. Or the nerves. But… we’re doing new things, we’re trusting each other. Making new memories for Simon to hold onto. And maybe those memories shouldn’t all be centred around sex, maybe these aren’t worthy replacements, but — 

I suppose the perks of being in the throes of pleasure is the inability to overthink, because a moment later words are spilling from my lips without my permission. 

“Simon,” I gasp, squeezing his thigh. Crowley, his thighs are everything. I can feel the muscles flexing as he bounces in my lap. “Simon, Simon, Simon — _choke_ _me_.” 

Simon’s movements falter. I crack an eye open (I don’t even remember shutting them) to find him looking down at me, befuddled. That’s not the face you want to see in bed. 

“What?” 

I can't bring myself to repeat it, but I’m afraid if I let this moment go on any longer I’ll lose all nerve. 

I reach for the hand he’s got on my shoulder, take his wrist and drag it slowly to my throat. His palm is large, warm, and I feel the callouses and scars against my neck. 

“Squeeze,” I breathe, and shut my eyes against Simon’s concerned look. 

“Wh— Uh, are you — are you sure?” 

“Yes. Just — keep going, and — and do this.” My voice wavers there at the end, but Simon does keep going. He starts shifting his hips over me again and his hand is heavy on my throat, but he’s not _doing_ anything. I tighten my hold on his wrist, mimicking what I want. 

It’s gentle at first, a light pressure against my windpipe. I tip my head back against the headboard, suck in a breath before tightening my hold on Simon’s wrist and relishing in the feeling as his grip tightens as well. 

It’s an entirely new sensation — I try to moan but I can’t, the sound rumbling against Simon’s hand before dying out entirely. Logically, I know there’s no way Simon could harm me if he wanted to. (Part of this whole vampire thing. I’m already dead, what’s the worst that could happen?) But I still feel vulnerable under his hand, giving him this much power over me. Not only with his hand around my throat, but with the control he has over the plug in my arse, and the brutal pace at which he’s rocking onto me. I’m just here, letting him use me, letting him take what he wants to pleasure himself. _Giving_ myself completely over to Simon Snow because I _trust_ him, and I love him. 

Between the plug’s heavy pulses shooting up my spine, Simon’s arse clenching around me, and his grip cutting into my throat, it feels like all the pleasure — all of my _emotions_ — are being concentrated into my core. There’s no escape as they keep building, and I’m gasping with no air, hips bucking up into Simon as he grinds down into them. 

It’s _overwhelming_.

It’s good, _so good_ , too good and too much and I don’t have an ounce of control over it. I gave it all to him, I’d give everything to him, I _want_ to give the rest of my life to him. I want. 

I want, I _want_ —

I _need —_

I’m — 

**SIMON**

Baz’s body tenses, and for a moment I’m afraid it was too much, I did something wrong, took it too far — but then his back is arching, head pressed against the headboard, and I feel him pulsing inside of me. 

I let go of his throat. ( _That_ was new.) He’s gasping for air and I almost feel bad, but he’s still clenching my arm and he’s still crying out and he’s _still coming_ as I rock my hips against him to work him through it. 

He’s so sexy like this, writhing with pleasure, because of _me_. I did this, I made him feel this good. Made him look disheveled, his hair a wreck, cheeks and chest flushed and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. 

I take myself in my hand, I’m so close it’s not going to take more than a few pumps. Baz finally opens his eyes, hooded and blown and watching me with something I can’t… place. Something intense, something big. 

I stroke myself as he watches me, face contorting with pain or pleasure as I’m still moving over him, but he doesn’t complain. Just watches, and I — 

I’m — 

“ _Simon, will you marry me?_ ”

I gasp, a broken sound falling from my lips as I shoot across Baz’s stomach, chest, stroking myself through it while my brain catches up and processes what just happened and — 

Baz is still watching me, eyes wide now and —

Oh. _Fuck._

Baz’s chest is covered in my spunk, as well as his chin and mouth, and I’ve even managed to get some across his cheek. I think I let out a weak whimper at the sight of him, of _my_ come streaked across his face. It’s as good as I thought it’d be, seeing him roughed up and messy and out of control. 

He looks positively shocked, and I’m not sure if it’s from my shooting onto him or from —

 _Merlin_ , _did he just ask me to marry him?_

“Baz — Fuck, sorry, wh-what?” 

“I — _Simon_.” He reaches for my mobile, which I've abandoned next to my right knee, and shuts off the vibrator. He visibly relaxes, and a moment later runs a finger over his cheek, pulling it away and looking at the mess now on his fingertips. “Did you just… ?”

“No, no, no, we can return to that superhuman orgasm later. Did _you_ just… ?”

“I — you _came_ on my _face_.” Baz looks incredulous, but I’m sure I’m wearing a similar expression. 

“Well-spotted! Y-you just asked me to _marry_ you.” 

He swallows and his eyes fall, staring at the sheets. “Well-spotted. Uhm—”

“Yes.”

He looks back at me. “I’m sorry?”

“My answer,” I clarify. “It’s yes. Yes, I’ll marry you. ‘Course I will.” 

He’s watching me with that intense look in his eyes again, and I think I can place it this time. It’s heavy, and powerful, and it makes my insides squirm. 

It’s _love_.

And it’s hope, and it’s trust, and it’s everything that you put into the person you love. The person you want to spend the rest of your life with, the person you want to _marry._

I know because I’m staring back at him with the same look, with the same thoughts. That I _love him_. That he’s everything to me, for me. That’s he’s my past, present, and my future. The only future that matters is one with him. 

My eyes burn and I cup his face in my hands and kiss him, hard, deep, with every ounce of energy I have left. I feel absolutely raw, like he’s managed to cut into me and find my most sensitive spots, only he’s caressing them, not hurting me. He’s loving me. 

His lips move against mine, but without as much intensity as before. They’re soft kisses, but every bit as meaningful. And I can taste myself on his lips, which should probably be a little gross, but here we are. 

Baz pulls back finally, chuckling and shaking his head. “You’ve made quite the mess, Snow.” He runs his thumb over my chin. I've probably gotten it all over myself now, I didn’t even think of that when I kissed him. Couldn’t really think of _much_ when I kissed him. 

I don’t care. I lift myself off of him, hissing as his cock slides out, and resettle myself on his lap, nestle into his neck. I can feel my come getting sticky between us, but I can’t imagine _not_ being this close to him right now. For the rest of our lives, really. 

“Simon,” he says gently, prodding at my side. “Let’s shower, love.” 

“You’re a mage,” I murmur into his throat. There’s a light mark from my hand earlier and I’ve been pressing kisses against it. It’ll fade soon enough, but I’m enjoying it now. 

“Yes, and my wand is across the room. We’d have to get up either way.” He nudges me again. “As much as I adore being covered in my fiancé’s semen, the novelty wears off around the same time as the orgasm.” 

I lift my head and grin. “Fiancé?” 

“Yes, well.” He’s flustered. It's a good look on him. “You… you did say yes, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” I shift off of him, stretching my legs over the edge of the bed and realising just how sore they are from what we’ve just done. “Guess I did.” 

Baz stands and takes my hand, pulls me along to the bathroom. He smiles the whole time. I love seeing him smile, the apples of his cheeks round and high and making him kind of squinty. His nose wrinkles, and his teeth flash, and he looks _happy_. It’s magic, truly magic. 

He must store his magic in his smile. 

We shower and kiss and wash each other and kiss some more. He holds me to him and runs his fingers through my hair, and I press kisses over his shoulder and clavicle. We’re under the spray so long it goes cold, and then Baz is wrapping a towel around me, and letting me towel off his hair. (“ _Scrunch_ and pat, Snow, don’t rub.”) (I never knew there was a right way to dry your hair. Baz is unsurprised to hear that.) 

“I’m going to have to ask you again, at some point tomorrow.”

We’re curled up under Baz’s massive duvet, his head on my chest and my fingers in his hair. It’s my turn to hold him.

“What d’ya mean?” I murmur into his hair. It’s still wet, and it smells like his posh soaps. Everything smells like posh soaps, even _me_ , because I let him wash my hair. (He insisted. He accidentally got come in it, which I guess was my own fault for getting it all over _him_.) 

“I was going to do it tonight, at dinner.” His fingers are tracing irregular patterns across my chest and stomach. “But… well, I didn’t _want_ to propose with a plug in my arse. I guess it was meant to happen anyway…” I laugh at that, and so does he. It’s such a lovely sound. And I get to hear it, for the rest of our lives. “Anyway. Mordelia has the ring, and I — well, I don’t think I can tell them the _actual_ way I did it. So, I’ll need to do it again. Tomorrow.” 

“You can ask me to marry you every day from now to our wedding if you want, darling.” 

I can feel him smiling against my chest as he nuzzles in closer, and I pull the blanket tighter around us. 

This is a moment I want to remember. Snuggled under a thick blanket with Baz’s body wrapped around mine, with his hair tickling my chin, and his breath blowing warm across my skin, and his body heavy against me. 

With the memory of his breathless, desperate, passionate, _“Simon, will you marry me?”_ still reeling through my head. 

And the feeling of already looking forward to the next morning, and every morning after that, waking up in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: [pipsqueakparker]()


End file.
